


Forged in Fire, Baptized in Blood

by Pilarcraft



Series: Fire and blood [2]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Erik is a berserker, Gen, Mentions of blood and gore
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-26
Updated: 2016-03-11
Packaged: 2018-05-23 09:35:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6112412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pilarcraft/pseuds/Pilarcraft
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Skyrim is a big place, and Dragonborn's isn't the only adventure that has happenned there.<br/>this is a story of three of them. how they became legends for ages to come, and how the Dragonborn's destiny interwined with each of them</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Krex: Riften

**Forged in Fire, Baptized in Blood**

**By Davoid123**

Chapter One: _Krex:_ Riften

* * *

It was a normal night in _Bee and the Barb_. A few people drinking mead, the resident Sorcerer mercenary was telling another one of his tall tales.

“Draugr were everywhere, none of them would step back. Fifteen deadly warriors back from eternal sleep, armed with gleaming black weapons. I already knew I was screwed. That was when I told myself I was _never_ taking another fetch job ever again” he paused, “until I returned here, and got my hefty payment, of course” two or three laughed at his words, but most were busy wallowing in their own misery.

“hah. Marcurio’s telling another story?” asked a well-dressed man sitting near him.

He was new. Krex would know. He was in the tavern night and day, and he hadn’t seen him there much before. That didn’t mean he was a stranger, though. He was somewhat familiar. He had a stall in the open market, and sold ‘wonders’ every once in a while.

His ‘wonders’, of course, were nothing more than scams, but while it _was_ known by all that he was a charlatan, somehow everyone checked his stall out when he was around.

But he wasn’t known for being social. He usually got lost in the crowd when he’d sold enough, or someone was stupid enough to test his merchandise.

Brynjolf looked at him, “never done a day of honest work in your entire life, have you?”

He scoffed, “I don’t work. Honest or not”

The nord smirked, “and _somehow_ , you always have enough money for your mead, dinner, and room every night.” He said, “I wonder how the guards haven’t seen it yet”

Krex sighed, “how much?” the number didn’t matter, he would snatch triple its price before the night was over. Maybe some of it from Brynjolf himself.

The nord laughed, “you think me an idiot?” he glared at the imperial, “you’ll steal whatever I ask before these people leave for home. No, my friend!” he smirked, “you’ll have to do me a favor.”

“a favor?” asked the imperial, confused at the Nord’s words. “come to my stall tomorrow, I’ll have the miracle you need” he said, before rising and leaving the tavern.

* * *

The next day Brynjolf was, as he’d said, by his stall.

An hour or so before the other merchants would leave their homes, Krex was there. Brynjolf, who was putting bottles of potion out of his sack, and on the stall, said “ah, good! You’re early.”

“Just tell me what you want” he said glumly. He wasn’t a morning person. Not at all.

“eager for business!” chuckled Brynjolf, “perfect!” then he stopped joking, “now, here’s what I’m asking. A client of mine wants a rival out of business. I already have a plan, but I need a partner. You’ll be that”

He pointed at a stall with a few chests full of jewels inside, “at ten in the morning, I’ll start advertising for my newest ‘miracle’. While I distract the others, you’re going to Medasi’s Stall over there, pick the lock, and snatch Medasi’s ring. One that has a fancy emblem carved on it.”

Krex looked skeptic, “that’s it? steal a ring?”

“oh no. that’s just the start. Then, you’re going to put it in Brand-shei’s pocket. Then, we wait for the fun to start. Savvy?”

Oh well, “steal a ring, and frame it on the only innocent dunmer in this city. Sure, why not? Just tell me when to start”

* * *

 

About two hours later, Krex was waiting by the bridge, when every other vendor _also_ showed up, opening their own stalls, when Brynjolf waved at him once, and began.

The man was skilled in lying, that much was obvious. And he was one helluvan actor. He quickly got the attention of every person in the market. In mere minutes, the five stalls were empty. Which gave him his opening.

He creeped towards the jewelry stall, picked the lock of the jewel box, and found the ring.

Now, to find Brand-shei. The poorly-named elf was one of the people in the crowd Brynjolf was entertaining with his ‘falmer-blood Elixir’. Krex walked towards him nonchalantly, slammed into him and said “WATCH it, _greyskin_!” as he slipped the ring, along with two lockpicks, into his pocket.

The elf apologized softly, but didn’t notice the new weight in his pocket.

* * *

Two minutes later, someone, precisely Grelka the armorer, got tired of Brynjolf’s advertisement, and said “FINE! I’ll just take a bottle!” and so she did. But once he opened the bottle, everyone groaned. Marcurio whined “aw man…skeever piss _again?_ ”

“what a waste of time” “why do we fall for this every time?” the others left, some to their stalls, others to their work. Until Medasi noticed his chest was open. “THIEF! Guards, arrest that elf!”

Everyone got silent. A guard walked to the elf, who didn’t understand what was wrong.

“what’s the problem, sir?” he asked the man politely, but he searched his pocket, and found the ring and a few lockpicks. “the ‘problem’, elf, is your disregard for the laws of this land. You’re coming with me, elf. You’ll be getting familiar to your new home _shortly_!”

A pity. Brand-Shei was always a good, if a bit naïve, elf. Alas, he _had_ to go.

Brynjolf was waiting for him by the stall, “ah! A pleasure watching another thief work!”

He smiled, “now look, you’re off the hook, and my _organization_ is a few drakes richer. It’s been a pleasure”

Krex scoffed, _I’m not a lap dog, and neither am I anyone’s lackey_ he thought, this was _not_ a pleasure for him. As he started walking away, Brynjolf said “another thing. 100 of the gain is yours.” He paused, “if you can find me. We’re in the Ragged Flagon, a tavern in the Ratways. Meet me there, and we’ll talk”

* * *

Which led to Krex’s trip into the Ratways.

The Ratways, of course, were the Riften sewer system, and home to a lot of its pests, some of whom Krex had the pleasure of meeting on his way.

The first two were armed with iron swords, and had no armor. In fact, they were bare-chested even. Just two Nords with a sword in half and a half-crazed look in eyes.

The first fell to Krex’s dagger. the second was a bit soberer, for he _tried_ blocking Krex’s attack

He had no experience in combat, or he wouldn’t’ve tried blocking a dagger with a sword as long as his own arms.

Krex’s dagger punctured a lung, and the beggar fell, gasping for air, but not getting any.

_Skooma addicts_ he thought, as he stepped over the corpse. These two were already hopeless, probably had been out of Skooma for a month or so.

Another two were in the pay, but a bit of sneaking helped Krex get to the Ragged Flagon without much problem.

Which proved to be quite the problem itself.

The tavern was empty of patrons, only a few were inside, all of them wearing the same strange gray-leather armor.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A.N: welcome to the bridge between _Mages of Winterhold_ , and _Nightwalkers_ to the story that is yet to come (if I ever get to write it. I have this habit of not completing my stories no matter how much I try)  
>  (Note: Nightwalkers is not yet uploaded in my AO3 account)
> 
> (I’ll try not to explain, needless to say, you can guess the other two parallel adventures that are written with this one. The hint is in the Title name)
> 
> I’ll update this story when I can type, and edit, three more chapters, (which means there are going to be two more chapters to the story shortly)
> 
> Davoid, signing off


	2. Erik: Taking up Arms

Forged in Fire, Baptized in Blood

Chapter Two: _Erik:_ Taking up Arms

* * *

The city of Whiterun is never free of visitors. If it’s not a trader from the four corners of Skyrim, it’s a sellsword looking for work within the companions. The economical capital of Skyrim is always open to others. Which makes it somewhat more tolerant of other races.

That means when a traveler with a weary horse stopped at the stables, the stable master was ready to help him off the horse, give him some food and, after looking at the state of his armor and weaponry, point him towards the General Goods store

The man in iron armor entered the city. Clearly new to being within stone walls. Fortunately for him (and probably beneficial to the shop owner), the story was in a convenient place, right next to the city’s main inn, the apothecary, and the street vendor. It wasn’t possible to miss it.

When he opened the door, the shop owner said in the tone of a businessman “Everything’s for sale, my friend. _EVERYTHING!_ ”

The man’s eyes widened. The voice was familiar. So was the face.

_Blood…fire…enflamed walls…screaming children…the sound of a portal to oblivion…”we gift to thee the blood of usurpers!”…_

_SNAP OUT OF IT!_ the armored man drew his iron sword, took a step towards the owner, and growled “forsworn”

The words had an immediate effect. The owner, a Breton by the name of Belethor, said in a less mirthful and more guarded, if a bit worried, tone “are you alright, sir?”

With a few deep breaths and a lot of self-control, the man said “sorry. My mistake” in a strained voice.

“I have things to sell, and I was told I could come by here” and picked up a very large sack and put it on the work desk.

“fine then, what do we have here?” the salesman unorthodoxly turned the heavy back upside down, what was inside looked a bit…expensive.

Tens of amulets, some religious and the others merely fancy looking necklaces, most of them enchanted. A few statues of dibella, ten ingots of gold and silver, a few fancy looking elven daggers and ten golden rings. There was also another sack inside, this one liking less heavy.

“did you loot a shipwreck?” asked the amazed shopkeeper, “what you’re giving me here is enough to set you up for life”

He opened the second sac, and pulled out a large looking thorn.

He cursed loudly and threw it down immediately, “forsworn!” the sack was full of the same stuff. Fifty of the sword, a bow with three quivers full of arrows, a few axes, and a strange knife.

“where did you _get_ all these?” he asked. The man chuckled bitterly, “these?” he spat, “off the corpse of their owners. Now tell me. What can you give me for all this?”

The salesman said “well, that would be the question, wouldn’t it?” and began calculating. “gimme a few minutes”

Ten minutes later, “well, _all_ this will earn you quite a fortune. Ten thousand golden septims, enough to buy you a house and furnish it.” he picked up ten large purses of coin and put them on the table, “not much, for a seasoned mercenary,” he explained, “but judging the state of _your_ armor, you’re new. With an armor a little better, you could become famous soon enough”

The man growled “I’m not a mercenary”

The Breton laughed, “maybe you should become one, then. The companions always accept new members”

The companions. The name was familiar. The Followers of Ysgammor were honored, and feared, in all Skyrim. Karthwasten was not an exception.

He said “the companions. How can I find them?”

The Breton replied eagerly” oh, that’s easy! Go to the wind district, just beneath the dragonsreach. It would be _hard_ not to notice the upside-down boat. That would be Jorvaskr” he explained, “how to the companions. You’ll want to talk to Kodlak White-mane.”

The man thanked him, and as he was leaving, Belethor said “oh, and if you _have_ new wares to sell, _do come back_ ”

* * *

Belethor was right. it was physically impossible not to notice Jorvaskr.

Erik stepped inside the ancient mead hall, where an elf and a woman were fighting, but they were in a stand-still. Not wanting to distract them of their fight, he walked towards the mead table.

Problem was, almost everyone was busy watching the brawl, except an old woman with a broom. The maid, probably.

“excuse me, how can I find Kodlak White-mane?” he asked, she looked at him, “come to join the companions, have you?” she glanced at his armor, then his sword. She scoffed, and said “just go to the sleeping quarters, over the door right there” she pointed at the door in the end of a staircase. “Kodlak’s probably in his quarters. Ask _him_ ”

The sleeping quarters had a pretty self-explanatory name. all there was were a few rooms with a few bets in them, in another was a table full of mead, cheese, and meat. And a room in the end was a bit bigger than the others.

He could easily find the chamber the woman had told him about. Two men were talking inside, until the old man with white hair (probably Kodlak) noticed him and raised a hand. The other, a younger nord in a strange white armor, looked up, to see the new comer. He stopped talking as well.

Apparently, whatever they were talking about, it was something he didn’t need to know.

“hmm. And I suppose you’re here to join the companions?” asked the younger man with a sneer on his face.

Erik looked at the man for a few seconds, and said “actually, Yes, I am”

The old man looked at him, “yes, I suppose. A certain fire in your soul. But …a _dark_ quest of vengeance as well” he pondered, “be careful it doesn’t burn you like it will your enemies”

The younger companion said “master, you can’t _possibly_ be considering this, we don’t even know of him-“ “I am _no_ one’s master, Vilkas. And besides, does his fame truly matter? Last I remembered, we had beds and armors for anyone who wished to join us”

Vilkas asked “but do we even know if he can handle himself in a fight? You remember Bragi, don’t you? Or Wulf? Or Gunjar?” the old man nodded, “Vilkas is right. how good _is_ your sword arm, young man?”

A series of men and women in wooden armor came to his mind. So did another in iron armor. And a pack of wolves. And an elf in blue robes who’s found him some sort of evil when he’d swore by Talos not to do anything while he was around.

“I can handle myself”

Vilkas saw that as a challenge, “is that so? We _can_ give you a chance to prove it, then”

Master Kodlak nodded, “indeed. Follow Vilkas to the ground. He’ll test your skills”

The feral grin Vilkas gave him was nerve-breaking. But in true Nordic fashion, he followed the man to the main building, and then to the yard behind it.

He picked a sword and shield, and said “I take it, you’ll use your own weapons?” and without waiting for a response, he continued “fine then. Kodlak asked me to ‘test your skills’. So I’m gonna do that. If you can land _one_ hit on me, I’ll buy your mead for the next month”

“what if I lose?” “well, then I suppose _you’ll_ have to buy me my drinks then. If you don’t land even _one_ hit, you’ve got no place here, though”

Safe to say, five minutes later, it was clear Vilkas wasn’t about to pay for any mead for the next month.

Erik raised his sword and with a shout ran towards the armored man he was facing. The other side-stepped, and grabbed Erik’s Armor from behind, before kicking his leg between the two metal plates and pulling him back.

The younger nord cried in pain, but didn’t all completely. He turned, before running towards the companion again. this time swinging low, aiming for the waist. The companion blocked it with the hilt of his sword, and slammer his shield to Erik’s face. He said “not so bold now, are you? Come on, land _one_ hit. I dare you!”

The nord got up again, breathing deeply, he said “is there any doubt you’ll win?”

“we’re not here to fight, kid. Of _course_ I’d win. I’ve been training with these stuff since you were born! I should **TEST** your _skills_. And so far, I’ve seen nothing. No good at blocking. No good at handling your armor. No skill at holding your sword. All I’ve seen is the stubbornness I could see in desperate men. Come on, attack me again!”

Angry at his words, Erik raised his sword, _one more time_ , and with a loud cry, he attacked the companion.

This time, his sword hit the enemy’s shield, and with a sound of _crack_ , broke it.

Of course the sword broke as well, but the force behind Erik’s swing was too much for Vilkas to block, and he fell.

Erik didn’t dare look at Vilkas, he could already picture the anger. The fury in the man’s face, bloodlust taking over and logic out of- he started laughing.

That shook Erik out of his trance. The Nord was laughing. As if all this time, he was waiting for this exact thing to happen.

Vilkas said “ _finally!_ ” he rose, before looking at the broken shield, “at least you have _something_ to show” he picked it up. The wooden handle inside was torn into pieces, and there was a large crack on the surface.

“this was made of branded bone-steal. Normal men can’t do that to something like this” he chuckled, “neither can a piece of iron, to be honest”

He looked at the boy, “you are in. you _do_ have raw power, but not much skill in using it. we can teach you that. Just…can you do me a favor?”

Erik said “anything. Just name it” “take this to Eurlond. He’s at the Skyforge, up on the hill” he pointed at the said hill, “ask him to repair it. I’ll retrieve it later. Oh, and ask him for new armor and weapon. You won’t survive the wilds in _that_ ”

* * *


	3. Azazel: innocence lost

Forged in Fire, Baptized in Blood  
Chapter Three: Azazel: Innocence lot  


* * *

“say, ‘ave ye ‘eard any new rumors?” asked a stranger in hide armor. An adventurer, probably, as he was waiting for his jar of ale, “anything interesting?”  
The tavern keeper, a Nordic woman, replied “well, nothing new. A few legionnaires were here a few days back. They put a bounty on a giant in a camp nearby. A few Vigilants asked for a sanctuary for the night. Oh, and a traveler said something about a boy in Windhelm doing the black Sacrament”  
That got Azazel’s attention. Sacrament? In Windhelm? He discreetly got himself closer to the barkeep. This was about to be a bit interesting.  
“sacrament?” apparently, the adventurer was of the same mind, “are you sure?”  
“it’s just a rumor I heard from a travelling mercenary. A kind in the grey quarter’s locked himself in his room, sounds of slashing and stabbing were heard all over the quarters. The guy heard them, and asked around”  
The adventurer said “and the jarl doesn’t care? Why don’t they ship the kid to Honorhall?”  
Of course, the conversation went on, but he’d heard enough.  
If there was the slightest possibility of the Dark Brotherhood still having a sanctuary in Skyrim, he had a mission to complete.  
He abruptly rose, dropped a coin purse on the table, and left the Old Hroldan Inn.  
He had a contract to receive.

* * *

He was in Windhelm a few days later.  
Despite all the ‘Anti-Elf’ propaganda he’d heard from the Stormcloaks, the Stormcloak Capitol was actually rather tolerant of Dunmer. not to say they were as tolerant as, say, Kvatch or Bruma, but the elves lived among the Nords, and considering the fact Windhelm was the standing symbol of Nord-elf hostility, the fact a few elves had stalls in the market district was really surprising.  
But Azazel, a dunmer as tall as an Altmer, and a silent observer at that, wasn’t really there for sightseeing.  
“greetings, fellow mer, what can I do for you?” asked a female dunmer in the grey quarters.  
“Yes. I was looking for a child. You see, he’s been doing some questionable things. The Vigil has sent me to investigate”  
The elf had to be really naïve to actually believe that, but alas, she was. “oh, you mean the Arentino kid?”  
She said “I remember the kid. Escaped the orphanage a few weeks back. Not that I believe it, but they say he’s doing the sacrament. Mephala knows we would be grateful if all this…stopped”  
“then I ask. Where can I find him?” “he’s on the second floor of the farthest house in the snow square. Near the Candlehearth inn”  
“I am grateful. Thank you for your cooperation”  
Which he actually was. His job had just got a lot easier.  


* * *

As he entered the house, breaking the lock without much effort, he winced at the stench. Filthy stinking smell of a corpse.  
A boy was chanting, “sweet mother, sweet mother, sent your child unto me, for the sins of the unworthy must be baptized in blood and fear” and stabbing something, presumably a corpse. He hoped it was a corpse. Which it thankfully was.  
The boy cursed, “work damn you! Maybe I should call her in Daedric?” he paused, before scribing on a piece of paper, “Neht Iya Geth Hekem Tayem Meht Oht Tayem Hekem Ekem Roht! Seht Ekem Neht Doht, Yahkem Oht Yoodt Roht, Cess Hekem Iya Lyr Doht, Tayem Oht, Meht Ekem!”  
Wow, the kid knew his Daedric. Even Azazel couldn’t tell his Daedric, and he worshipped daedra.  
He was clearly an imperial. Too pale for a Redguard, not pale enough for a nord, taller than a Breton.  
He was stabbing the corpse of some dead woman, repeatedly. A few petals of nightshade scattered around the dead body. The corpse was inside a large circle of candles with grey fumes. And the boy was reciting the summoning words perfectly as he sobbed, which was normal for most of the ones who performed the Sacrament.  
Azazel cleared his throat, “enough, kid. I’m here”  
He turned, grabbed his dagger, covered in nightshade, in a reverse grip, and dropped low in a weak fighting stance.  
Then his face turned into one of excitement. “you came!” he said in a joyful tone.  
“you’re finally here! I performed the sacrament for too long. Praise the divines, I was almost losing hope.”  
The elf said nothing, and the boy continued “but now you’re here! And you can receive my contract!” without waiting, he said “I want you to kill Grelod the kind. The matron of Honorhall Orphanage.”  
Azazel looked at the boy, “you want me to…kill the Orphanage matron. Why?”  
“my…my mum died from the cold last winter. Then I got that letter from a guard” he pointed at a letter, “and they sent me to the orphanage in Riften. To Grelod. They told me she was kind” he scoffed, “well, she’s not! She hit us every day, and didn’t give us food and…and…and…and I want her DEAD!” he said with a surprising amount of hatred for a boy.  
Azazel had never seen a child that spiteful. Then again he hadn’t seen children perform the sacrament either.  
“so I escaped, escaped and returned home. Please, sir. You have to kill Grelod!”  
Azazel sighed “alright, kid. I’ll do what I can.”  
As he leaving, he said “just…do me a favor. Get rid of the corpse there. If anyone comes to get the contract, deny everything, you got that?”  
“okay, I’ll do that”  
And thus, Azazel began his trip to Riften.  


* * *

Despite what guards said, Riften wasn’t That corrupt. At least Azazel didn’t see anyone mug him. Or steal anything from him. But maybe that’s because he didn’t linger much. He found the orphanage as soon as he entered the city.  
“excuse me, where can I find Grelod the Kind?” he asked the guard. “ole Grelod? Oh that’s easy! She’s always at the orphanage. You here to adopt?” “yes…I’m here to adopt. Favor to a friend, you see-“ “don’t. you’d steal one of them kids faster. Grelod doesn’t let anyone get adopted” “why?” “oh, It’s an open secret. ‘slong as the kids are…well…kids, they work for ‘er. Part of a deal with lady Black-Briar, they say. So they don’t let ‘em go free”  
Well. That was interesting. No wonder someone had escaped the orphanage.  
The ‘kind’ matron was easy to notice. An old Nordic woman with voice like a hag and an attitude even worse. She was bullying the kids under her charge  
“now listen up you no good pieces of skeever dung!” she’d said, as Azazel was walking inside, entering the orphanage for some sort of investigation.  
“Nobody needs you, nobody wants you! So you sit there, do what you’re told, and be grateful you’re here, instead of out there in the dangerous world. You get it?”  
“yes, Grelod. You’re very kind” said the five children in a monotone. Four of them had a dull look in their eyes, almost as if all hope was taken from them. One of them still had a bit of hatred in her eyes. She was probably new.  
Well. She wasn’t kind. The kid was right. the contract was received, and now, he wouldn’t even lose a night of sleep for it.  
The old woman turned, “what’cha doin’ here? The kids don’t want to get adopted! Get LOST!”  
Fortunately, there were no other people inside. Just the kids. Azazel Bet they wouldn’t even bat an eye if she dropped dead in front of them.  
“oh, I’m not here to adopt. More along the lines of…rescue…” he released two sharp bolts of ice towards the matron, and she fell.  
Silence took over the room. Then a boy said “’can’t believe it! Grelod’s Finally dead!” another aid “Grelod’s Dead! HAHA!” “Aventus finally did it! we’re free from Grelod!”  
His work was done here.  
Azazel turned, and as he was about to leave the building, a girl in the far end of the room, near him, said “kill one person, and this many problems are solved…I wonder…”  


* * *

“So, Grelod…is she…you know?” “Grelod the kind is dead”  
The kid jumped and punched the air, “YES! FINALLY!” he cried in joy, “thank you thank you thank you! Here take this!” he handed Azazel a piece of metal, that was supposed to be a plate. “that’ll fetch a nice prize! Thank you!”  
“do me a favor, and return to the orphanage! You’ll be better off there!” he said, but the boy wasn’t paying any attention. “oh, when I grow up, I’m gonna be an assassin too!”  
By Sithis. He’d trained a monster.  
As he left the house, he knew what was going to happen. A note was pierced to the wall with a dagger  
On it was only a black hand and two words  
WE KNOW  
His plan was working perfectly.  
Which was why he was shocked out of his mind when he woke up in a shack in the marsh. That far from Windhelm.  
“slept well?” asked the woman in assassin armor, sitting on a shelf nearby

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: is the corpse in Arentino residence actually Aventus’ mom? Think about it, how else could he have gotten a corpse for the sacrament? And that brings a question: what are the jarl’s men doing in the city? (note, I don’t side with the imperials, but this is way out of line. Almost Riften-level out of line. The fact that a novice level lock can hold the guards out of a house that everyone knows harbors an orphanage escapee is not something that can be ignored.)  
> Note, that deadric part is just some Daedric alphabet rubbish, it means NIGHTMOTHER! SEND, YOUR, CHILD, TO, ME! I was going to use latin (as in olden cyrodillic, since Nibeno-colovians are so much like the Romans), but then I realized Google translate isn’t really reliable and I don’t know any latin.  
> Until I can type the next three chapters.  
> Davoid, signing off


	4. Krex: Protection

This was the home of thieves. Or all that was left of it. less than ten people the ‘Ragged Flagon’. Ten clad in brown-and-blue armor that gray fox had chosen as the guild uniform at the beginning of the fourth era

Really an irony for thieves to leave under the city, in an ugly sewer system. The ‘bar’ was set on the dry part of the Ragged Flagon, and there was a scruffy nord behind it, serving one of his patrons a drink.

Brynjolf was not hard to find. He was one of the two thieves _not_ in brown armor, this one was all black.

“ah, glad to see you could make it, lad!” said the master thief as he noticed Krex marching next to him.

“make yourself at home!”

Krex shuddered, “this place _smells_!” “yes, Krex! This place smells, because we can’t do anything _about_ it!” said a woman with a familiar voice. A nord with cynical attitude and hot temper. Most know her as Sapphire, most called her ‘ _CRAP she’s here! Run!_ ’

She was a friend. Well, as close of a friend as a rival thief can become.

Brynjolf said “we _can_ try! All we need is skill!”

The bald man with a similar armor to Brynjolf said “I’ve been telling’ you! ‘Skill’ won’t work if we’re under a curse. We’ve lost our luck. Thieves _need_ luck to succeed.”

“Fine,” said Brynjolf, “let us put that to a test!” then he looked at Krex, “are you ready for a new mission?”

Krex wasn’t impressed, “I’m not your slave. First, pay me for the first job” Brynjolf shrugged and handed him a purse of coin, then said “now. Your mission. Remember Brand-shei?” “the innocent dunmer I just sent to jail? Yes” “well. You ought to make it up to him, don’t you?”

* * *

The base mission was simple. Get yourself thrown into jail. Easy. All he had to do was make a bit of trouble in the market.

In front of the guards.

“hey! There’s _no way_ this armor’s worth 500 coins! The leather is already torn!” he exclaimed loudly.

Grelka, the armorer, spat at his feet, “500. Take it or leave it!”

Krex drew a dagger and tore the leather armor. “can I get it for 250 now?” he scoffed, “on second thought, nevermind!” as he began leaving, Grelka growled “Guards!” two guards hurried to the stall.

“this man just damaged my goods! Do something!”

One of them sighed, “Well, it was time you got caught, Krex. It’s a night in jail for you”

* * *

“you owe this city five hundred golds. That means a night in this cell, buddy. Have fun” said the single guard of the prison.

As soon as he’d returned to his post at the front door, Krex picked the lock with the pick he’d sneaked inside. Simple.

Then he crouched and slowly sneaked to the cell on the left.

The dunmer inside was sitting on a chair, moping. “hey, Brand-shei!” he whispered.

The elf turned his head, to see Krex’s finger to his mouth. World-wide known symbol for ‘don’t talk’. Krex continued, “when I pick the lock, follow me. I’m breaking you out!”

Three minutes later, the two were in Krex’s cell. “why are you doing this? My sentence will be completed in a week!” said the dunmer. “please. Maven paid the guards. You are going to rot here, your stall’s already commissioned to another crafter. Unless you follow me, you’re going to either rot _here_ as a prisoner, or rot out there as a beggar.”

The elf snarled “MAVEN! I shoulda known!” he lit his hand with mage-fire. “very well. You lead, I follow”

And follow he did.

Noticing the strange symbol near the strange handle, he pulled it. behind him, the call of the cell fell, showing a path through the city sewers. The Ratways.

As they sneaked through the Ratways, aiming for the way out of the city, Brand-shei said “Who paid you to do this” “huh?” “breaking me out. There’s no _way_ you did this out of the goodness of your heart”

He laughed, “The silver-bloods, of course. The only true Rivals the Black-briars have. Piece of advice, don’t show up in Riften anymore, you might get yourself killed.”

When they reached the door to the Rift, Krex said “After you get out of the door, a pair of Mercenaries will be waiting for you. Tell them ‘Maven sends her regards’. They’ll get you to Markarth. When you’re there, go to the silver-blood inn. The innkeeper will give you a new job” “my new job?” “your choice. Ask him to find you an employer for a job of your choice. Just remember, you owe the _silver-bloods_ for this”

* * *

 

Thirteen minutes later, he was back in his prison cell. He quickly covered up the debris of the fallen wall and after relocking his own cell door, jumped on the bed.

He had a day of prison to get over with.

* * *

When he entered the flagon again, the Barkeeper was arguing with Brynjolf.

“give it up, Bryn. The good old days are over” said the Barkeeper, a nord whose name Krex hadn’t picked up yet. “I’m telling’ you. This time it’ll be different”

Another thief, the bald imperial, said “we’ve all heard that before, Bryn. Its’ time you wake up from your dream”

The keeper said “yes. It’s time to face the real world, old friend. Times are changing. Mercer, you, vex, you’re all part of a dying breed”

“dying breed, eh?” said Brynjolf, and pointed at Krex, who was standing nearby. “what do you call _that?”_

Then he asked, “so, lad. You’re here. How’d it go?” “Brand-Shei’s out of prison. If the Mercs do their job right, he’ll be in Markarth before the next week” Brynjolf was pleased, “color me impressed, lad! I wasn’t expecting a full success! You’re reliable _and_ head-strong. You’re turning to be quite the prize”

Then he said “good for us. It’s time Riften understood the Guild is back”

He raised his voice, “Listen up, everyone! We’re having a competition!”

“as is our tradition, I’m calling a free night! Get out of the Flagon! Tonight, we’re raiding Riften! Steal _everything_ you can carry; take _all the money_ you can find! Liberate our fellow thieves from the Dungeons! It’s way past time we sent a message! Tonight, the Thieves Guild is Back! Stronger than before!”

As the crowd began cheering, he turned to Krex, “I thing you’d do more than just fit in here. Are you ready to join us?”

_Am I?_ “count me in!” “good. Now, if there’s no questions, follow me. I’ll show you the _true_ guild hall!”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: the plan (breaking Brand-shei out of prison after throwing him into jail) was based on a real historical event in Renaissance italy. A family hired the local Thieves Guild to throw someone into jail because he wouldn’t work for them, and the rival family hired the same guild to break him out. The only person in this situation that actually profited was the thief that did it.
> 
> Another note: the Riften jail is, as most of you know, bugged. There is no way of escaping (aside from picking the cell door’s lock). i couldn’t let it be that way, of course.
> 
> Until the next batch,  
> Davoid, signing off.


	5. Erik: Clearing the Filth

It took him less than three days to finally get a job.

“a group of bandits have holed up in a nearby cave. _REDORAN’s retreat_. Go there, kill everyone inside, return. Good luck, whelp. You might need it” had said Farkas, Vilkas’ tin, who was surprisingly easy-going, before handing Erik a bounty letter and sending him off to the cave.

The journey wasn’t long, and the bandits were either really optimistic, or just a bunch of idiots. The cave didn’t even have an outlook or a guard outside.

Erik drew his Warhammer, a long steel handle with an orcish steel hammer-head. Not really his style, Orcish steel, but the best his money from all his loots could buy.

Slowly entering the cave, he readied his Warhammer. As he creeped slowly, he heard a bandit say with what most would call regret, “just told ‘im to gimme his coins, but _nooooo_ …they always gamble their lives!”

The words, really anticlimactic for a man of his profession, made Erik snort.

The bandit said “huh?” before getting up from his chair. Turning as he picked an iron sword from the table. As soon as he turned, he was faced with a nord in complete mercenary scaled armor with a large Warhammer.

Just like the people he’d mentioned, he just _had_ to gamble his life, “ _never_ shoulda come here!” before attacking with a loud cry.

Sighing, Erik sidestepped and slammed the hammer-head to the bandit’s knees. With a loud crack, the bandit cried in pain as he fell. His legs were already useless.

“a fast death is too good for your _kind_ ” said Erik, before slamming the handle to the man’s head. As the bandit moaned for a last time before getting knocked out, he looked the man from any gold he might’ve had. Just a purse with 15 coins.

Entering the next chamber, he saw another bandit, this one patrolling with a dog.

He sighed, before cursing his luck, finding at aiming his pitiful bow at the dog and firing a single arrow. Killing the beast, he dropped the useless bow and drew his Warhammer again. he snarled “Sovngarde Awaits!” before charging at the lone bandit.

The bandit raised his sword at the right moment, meeting the steel handle. Erik cursed under his breath, before shoving the man and swiping his feet with his hammer. The man fell.

Not leaving anything to chance, Erik brought the hammer on his head. Blood sprayed from where his hammer met flesh.

Leaving the dead body to rot, he left to the next chamber. If these were _anything_ like other bandits, they were holed in the biggest chamber in the cave, probably drinking mead or stuffing their face.

He wasn’t proven wrong. About seven more bandits were in the biggest room in the cave, chatting over some mead.

“and then I told ‘im ‘money or life! Choose the one you like to keep!’ and he decides to attack me!” one, a dunmer, said, “gave me a good fight though. Sure knew how to swing that mace of his around”

A Khajiit said “huh. J’vanni was wondering when you got that new scar. Is that it?” then he said “curse these people not letting Khajiit in the city! Accuse Khajiit of being a thief, why don’t you?”

“J’vanni, you _are_ a thief. Hell, I haven’t met a Khajiit that wasn’t a thief, not in Skyrim at least”

“you dare accuse Khajiit of Larceny?” the _snickt_ of claws being unleased put Erik on his guard. “J’vanni will make you eat your words!” “I’d like to see you try, cat!” said the dunmer, before drawing a sword.

* * *

As it happened, he didn’t even need to charge. By the time the little brawl was over, the Khajiit, the dunmer, and a poor Bosmer had fell, a gruff orcish voice said “Divines, what a _waste!_ ”, a nord with a gruff, ruling voice said “alright. get rid of these poor sods. We’ve a raid to plan!”

The very word _raid_ snapped Erik out of it.

These bastards were going to raid another town. Probably Rorikstead. If he didn’t stop them now, many families would lose months’ worth of food. A kid could become an orphan or homeless. He couldn’t let that happen to another person. He _wouldn’t_

With that in his mind, he raised his hammer and called “you’re not raiding anywhere!”

The nord, a chief said “lookie here! We’ve got ourselves a hero!” he laughed, “how’re you going to stop us, huh?”

He pointed the hammer-head to the nord, “I’m killing you!”

The orc said “ooh, this one’s got spunk! Let’s see it then!”

The five bandits circled around them. The orc, at least two heads higher than Erik and quite three stones larger, clad in orcish armor, stood in front of him. “let’s see if your famed berserkery has anything to my Bloodlust, eh?”

His green eyes flashed red, and with a loud cry, the orc charged into battle, swinging his two-headed axe widely. Erik brought up his Warhammer and blocked the blow. The collision of two handles caused a bright red spar, with the light blinding the orc, Erik crouched low, and swiped the Orc’s legs with the hammer’s sharp head. The sharp blade tore the orc’s armor, and cut his leg. The orc cried in pain, but Eric was not yet done, leaving the hammer stuck to the orc’s leg, he drew a steel shortsword and slashed at the orc’s chest, before stabbing. His aim was true and his strength unstoppable, the sword pierced the orc’s heart.

Just before tearing his hammer brutally and letting the orc fall, he said, in an abnormally calm voice, “your red bloodlust is no match for my white fury, Orc. You were destined to fall, as are _all_ your comrades!”

He let the orc fall with a thud, exhaled deeply and yelled, descending into the Berserker’s Rage.

* * *

**Elsewhere**

The tall figure in an armor made of living ebony winced as he walked the nord smash the last bandit’s head into the wall three times. He hadn’t even noticed his bloodied hand, or armor, or face. “are you _sure_ taking that man as a future champion is a good idea, huntsman? He’s too much of a wildcard”

The huntsman, a big nord with the skin of a wolf on his back and the head of a dear as his headdress said “he’s perfect. The anger, if focused correctly, can be the greatest weapon.”

The other said “I’m not really sure, Huntsman. That sort of berserkery is almost akin to madness. What if the mad god has a claim to him?” “from what I’ve seen, it’s highly unlikely for him to pledge himself to anyone of our kind. Dagon’s cronies have proved troublesome, again.” he stopped, “what I don’t understand is _your_ interest in him, sanguine. Why are _you_ that interested at a little boy angry at the world?”

Sanguine, peeved at his fellow Daedric prince’s liberal use of his name, said “you might not remember it, hircine, but debauchery isn’t my _only_ sphere of influence. I’ve spun the threads, his is intertwined with the Dragonborn. and be both know how annoying a Dragonborn can become. Remember Martin? Or Potema? How about Miraak?”

The huntsman, or Hircine, as he was called by the void bellow, said “well, let’s leave him. He’ll have to choose. As it is with all the most influential, that’s how it goes”

* * *

**Back in Whiterun hold**

By the gods, his body hurt. His arms, chest, and legs were bruised, and he had a large cut on one arm and his shortsword had broken in half.

His surroundings weren’t any better, half the walls were painted with blood and brain matter. A Bosmer bandit had his head smashed, and he particularly winced at the state of the bandit leader, his head shoved into the lava forge.

“Talos, what did I _do?_ ” he asked no one in particular, but he knew the answer. He’d lost control, and this was the result.

He had to learn more about this…bloodlust…and learn to control it. he couldn’t lose control in Whiterun. Innocents lived there.

He couldn’t let anyone know of this. He had to hide it somehow. No one could know the fate of the bandit clan living in Redoran’s Retreat.

As soon as he’d looted the corpses and emptied the loot-chest of the cave, (which gave him a small fortune of coins and jewelry, as well as a fancy elven sword that he replaced with the useless steel sword he’d lost), he dragged the bodies to the room before releasing the chains.

Flames engulfed the chamber.

Done and done.

* * *

“Redoran’s retreat is clear of bandits” said Erik, when he returned to Jorvaskr. “the job is over. Now gimme my bounty”

Farkas, the well-built warrior in a strange armor, raised an eyebrow, “was there any problems?”

Erik prided himself for keeping his nonchalant face, as he was panicking inside, _oh gods, what if he knows? What if-_ “no. just a bunch of poorly-armed fellows. The chief was a good challenge thought”

Farkas glared at him and paused for a few seconds, then said “fine. You’ve brought us honor, and more importantly, money. You can take your earn tomorrow, when Vilkas returns from a hunt with three of our shield-brothers.”

As he said that, a man in blue robes said “I’ve told you what I had to, Savage! I don’t’ have to take your insults to my years of study!” and stormed to the door, leaving with a huff.

“c’mon. let’s see what _that_ was all about!” said farkas, before walking to Skjor, who was frowning at the jar of mead in his hands.

Skjor said “huh. We have a problem” “What is it?” “the mages. They found something” “what?” “a fragment of Wuthraad. It’s in the Dustman’s Cairn, in Whiterun.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> note: the Dunmer's opinion on the Khajiit is just that. his opinion. i do not believe that (even though i have yet to see a khajiit NPC in ES games that is not a) a Skooma addict, b) a thief, or c)both.  
> most caravan khajiit are thiefs that //teach// thieving skills or buy thieving equipment (lockpicks, daggers). and all of them sell //skooma//.  
> the exception to this rule is, of course, J'zargo. who may be a braggart, but he's not a thief.


	6. Azazel: Initiation

The shack was in the colder parts of Skyrim, he could tell. It was also close to the marsh, the sound of frogs and slithering reptiles were a tell-tale sign for that.

It was wooden, with woods probably pine. Somewhere close to High rock then, which was quite the shock. The brotherhood had gone through quite the effort to abduct him.

The assassin lady with a masked cowl jumped down from the self she was sitting on.

“don’t worry, you’re warm. Alive. Still breathing. You had quite the sleep too, it seems. Which is more than what can be said for poor old Grelod.”

Azazel looked at the nord with silence, she continued, “oh, don’t worry. I’m not angry at you. It was quite the professional performance. But see, thing is, Grelod wasn’t yours to kill. Arentino was calling for the _dark brotherhood_ ¸ which you’re not a part of. See, Grelod was _ours_ to kill. A kill you stole, and a kill _you_ have to repay.”

Oh

The old ‘figure the contract’ trick then.

He knew that one, he’d been on the wrong side of the joke before.

He said “repay?”, to act dumbly, he continued, “what do you mean?”

“on your left, at the hall of this cozy home we’ve had to … _borrow_ …, are three people. At least _one_ of them is a contract.” In the place she addressed, a Khajiit in expensive robes, a Breton in a poor tunic and a nord in mercenary armor were kneeling, an execution hood on the head of each of them.

Huh.

“so…I have to choose one of them?” “yes. And if you’re right, you’re free to go. Easy as that”

Not likely, if he wasn’t one of them, then he was a loose end. There were at least four others outside, ready to kill him if he left the shack alone. He already knew it.

But she didn’t know that. She unlocked the shackles, and said “choose wisely”

* * *

“look, I’ve done nothing, alright?” said the nord, “just let me go. I’ve got nothing to pay you”

“don’t worry, I’m not here to do anything.” Said Azazel in a reassuring voice, “just tell me. Why are you here? Have you done anything bad?”

“Me? Poor Fultheim? No! I swear! I’m just a sell-sword- you know, a blade for hire! I never done nothing nobody asked me to!” he paused. “well, there _may_ have been times I’d gotten carried away. But it was just…it’s war, right? shit happens! Can you blame me?”

In other words, he’s a rapist and a bandit, who went on missions for too many times, and left a survivor once.

“no Fultheim. Nobody can”

* * *

“get me out of here! I’m telling you! I have  _six_ children to feed!” shrieked the second one, a Breton with an irritating aura of self-righteousness. “so, why are  _you_ here?” asked Azazel. “have you anyone who might want you dead?”

“I’m a lone mother of _six_ children. I may be a bit hard on others, but someone who wants me _dead_? I have no idea”

A bitter woman who humiliates her fellow citizens. Until one of them committed suicide or something, and now the dad has sworn to make the woman who caused his daughter’s death pay.

Dull.

“well. You’re probably innocent as well”

* * *

“ah, so finally here for your real target, are you?” said the Khajiit, “no worries. It is  _VASHA_ , obtainer of goods, taker of lives, and defiler of daughters!” he scoffed, “if my enemies didn’t ask for my head, I’d be  _offended_ . Now, release me, so I can pay you in kind.”

So, a rapist bandit chief. Probably the leader of the Organization Fultheim would’ve worked for.

He didn’t even need to be a seasoned assassin to figure this one out.

“don’t worry. We’ll get to you later.”

* * *

He walked back to the assassin. “so, have you chosen?”

He smirked, _time for the punchline!_ “you’re not really a speaker, are you?”

The woman was confused. “what?” “a speaker. You know, one of the five fingers of the hand? You are a dark sister, the armor tells that, but you don’t wear the black armor. How are you the sanctuary leader?”

The woman frowned, “there are no speakers alive. The last known speaker died in Cheydinhal ten years ago”

He snarled furiously, “actually, no. the last speaker died three months ago. _Sacrificed_ herself so that I could get away from Kvatch before the purge.”

“you’re a dark brother?” “ _yes_ , and all three of those are contracts. They will all die, no matter which one I choose, and all three of them _deserve_ death” he smirked, “but that’s irrelevant. I killed Grelod to find _you_ , apart from doing all Skyrim Orphans a favor. I ask you to let me join your sanctuary”

The woman closed her eyes for a second, and breathed, then said “alright. welcome back, but under _one_ condition”

He said “anything”

She chuckled, “as long as _I’m_ your sanctuary leader, you work for me. Forget the black hand, they are an extinct breed. _We_ are the new brotherhood, and we do things differently.”

Well. That meant he had to tolerate her until she did something _really_ wrong. “alright. I accept”

“fine. When you leave the shack, tell the assassins you’re ‘one with the brotherhood’. They’ll lead you to the sanctuary. I’ll meet you there, after I deal with these three and receive the payment”

* * *

The only active sanctuary in Skyrim was located in the Pine forest, in a cave under a hill right next to the city of Falkreath, where he’d first entered Skyrim from.

The four assassins led him to the sacred door. The main one, a Breton with two daggers on her hips said “well, we’re hear. Observe, and learn the parting words. They will remain the same until we tell you otherwise.”

She walked to the door, and placed her hand on the figure of the black hand on the door.

An otherworldly voice talked from the door. “ _what is the music of life?_ ”

The Breton said “silence, my brother” “ _welcome home_ ”

The figure of the dread lord opened its eyes, then flashed red, and the black door opened. Inside, as it is with all the sanctuaries, was nothing but darkness.

The Breton walked in first, vanishing through the void. So did the second, a dark elf with a bow on his back. The assassin behind Azazel said “when you’re inside, talk to Astrid first. She’ll have to introduce you. Then, you want to talk to Nazir. He’s the Redguard in hammerfell robes, can’t miss him. Now go, nee your new home!”

And that was exactly what he did.

The sanctuary was almost like any other cave in Skyrim. Except it was obviously the lair of assassins. Banners with the black hand emblems were hanging from the walls, and there were people inside, each of them in some form of the assassin armor. Walking down the stairs, he entered a room almost like the old office in Kvatch.

A table with a map on it was in the center of the room, two bookcases with _morbid_ choices of books on them were by the wall, and a room with a bed inside it was on the east side. By the stairs to the main chamber, the assassin leader was leaning by the wall.

“at last!” she said. “I hope you didn’t mind the entourage. The last person we told the sanctuary location to turned out to be a member of the vigil. The following battle was…messy”

He nodded. The last person Marion had told the location of their _own_ sanctuary had turned out to be a _Morag Tong_. The following battle was a bloodbath he never wanted to see again. “I understand. So, what happens now?”

“well. Now, you start your new life with our family. Well, for you it would be a return to some distant relatives, but still. This, as you can see, Is our Sanctuary. Safest place in Skyrim. So get comfortable.”

“good to be back, sister” he said, and she smiled warmly. “just Astrid, dear. But first, some explanations: as you might know, we have no listener”

That was true. The last one had died in the Night-mother’s crypt in Bravil. She _was_ getting moved by the keeper, but she still hadn’t chosen a listener. At least not yet.

She continued, “As such, finding people who might’ve performed a sacrament is a bit…harder. On occasion, we learn of a rumor like young Arentino’s problems, and we send an assassin. But we usually are just blades for hire. Deadly blades, but blades still.” She paused, “however, that will soon change”

He said “how exactly?” “the night-mother is coming. Soon, she will be here, perhaps she will choose a listener. Sithis knows that will make things easier” she sighed, “for now, if you want a contract, ask Nazir. I’m sure the system was the same back in your sanctuary. Small time contracts don’t come from the Sanctuary Matron” she smiled again, “oh, and before I forget! Be sure to pick an empty bed. Your new armor is in the chest near it” she paused, “consider it a gift. May it serve you well in all your” she grinned, “endeavors”

He nodded, chuckling quietly, and walked through the door. The main room was more than just a big chamber. It was a large hall with a forge on one side and a magesroom in the other. in front of Azazel another stair case led to the sleeping chambers. Water flowed to a little river that flowed in the room to a little lake near a strange curved wall with curving on it.

In the middle, however, were a few people talking. An argonian was saying “Again! again! do the part where he tries to buy you candy!”

When a little girl started talking and moving her hands exaggeratedly, he smiled as he slipped into the crowd.

He was home again.

 


End file.
